


The day is yours

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:03:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5988352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 5 of the Mapmaker Series. A human woman joins the company of Thorin Oakenshield on the quest to Erebor as a mapmaker and finds a lifelong love.</p>
<p>Thorin returns from battle to his waiting love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The day is yours

The day of the battle had seemed like the longest day of your life. Thorin had led you to a small chamber deep in the heart of the mountain that had access to a recently-discovered hidden passageway, a means of escape should the worst happen and Erebor be breached. He lay a sword on the table (”though I pray you will never need it”), kissed you, stared deep into your eyes for one last, fleeting moment, and he was gone…and you were powerless to do anything but wait and wonder.

The hours wore on. Rummaging in the small pack Thorin had given you and finding bread, apples, and a flask of water, you made an attempt at luncheon. But the bread seemed to turn to dust in your mouth, and you settled for a few sips of water before carefully repacking the uneaten food. You alternated between pacing the length of the room and sitting on the floor, your knees huddled to your chest as you leaned your head against the wall and tried not to think about what might be happening outside. Even now, Thorin might be dead, with Azog the Defiler gloating over his body in triumph…but no. No. You couldn’t allow even the thought, it would surely drive you mad. Taking a deep breath to calm your churning stomach, you resorted to occupying your mind with counting the stone blocks in the opposite wall. 

You couldn’t have told how long you’d been waiting when you heard it, faintly at first, but growing louder. The tramp of heavy boots, coming toward your hiding place. You quickly leapt up and snatched the sword from the table, gripping the hilt tightly to stop the trembling of your hands. The footsteps seemed irregular, as though their owner’s gait was impaired somehow, and they came ever closer. Your hand moved to the latch of the secret inner door that would allow you to flee. Your mouth was dry as cotton, and your pulse was a loud, rushing noise in your ears. 

And then, the sound you wanted to hear more than any other: Thorin’s voice, calling your name. The sword clattered to the floor as you flew to unlock the door, and there in the dim hallway stood your love…bloodied, limping, filthy with grime, but alive. You flung yourself into his arms and he used the last of his strength to hold you tightly to himself. Pulling back again, taking his battered face in your hands, you asked, fearfully, “is everyone else–” 

“We are all alive,” he assured, with a deep sigh of relief. 

“Oh, thank the gods,” you breathed, wiping your tears from your cheeks.

You stayed by Thorin’s side as Oin cleaned his wounds and applied healing salve to the gashes on his face. After he had heaved his weary body from the bath, clean of all the blood and dirt and dressed in fresh nightclothes, you combed through his thick hair, gently working out the tangles, anointing it with a bit of scented oil, restoring his bead-trimmed braids to their former dignity. When he was comfortably in bed, you kissed his forehead and prepared to leave, but he stopped you. “Amrâlimê…will you stay with me tonight? It does me good to know you are here.” 

Gingerly, careful not to jostle him, you crawled onto the bed and lay down, gently resting your chin on his shoulder. He reached for your hand, pressed it to his lips, and brought it to rest upon his chest, covered by his own large hand. You closed your eyes, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat under your palm, and a tear slid down your cheek as your mind was flooded with thoughts of how you might have lost him. When you opened your eyes again, he was looking at you sympathetically. “I am no stranger to battle. But this day…the need to live, the need to return to you…it was unlike anything I have felt before. It gave me courage. _You_ gave me courage.” 

“And you did live,” you whispered, stroking his hair back from his forehead. 

A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I did live. The time for tears is behind us,” he encouraged, and you smiled and nodded, truly believing it. He settled his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. “Do you remember the first time you slept by my side?” he murmured. 

A grin slowly spread across your face. “How could I forget? It was freezing, and I was so shocked that ornery Thorin Oakenshield cared enough to warm me.” 

“And I was equally shocked that our beautiful young mapmaker would accept the invitation to share my bedroll.” He laughed at the memory, then winced in pain. 

“Shhhhh,” you soothed, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his bruised cheek. “Rest now. Sleep. I will be here when you wake.” His breathing soon became deep and slow, and his hand upon yours relaxed. You sighed, feeling your own eyelids grow heavy, and for the first time in months, you fell asleep in the knowledge that the future, at last, was bright


End file.
